Warm Milk
by IllusionaryEscapement
Summary: Whouffle one shot full of fluff; Clara can't sleep one night, and goes to make herself warm milk...


Clara tossed – again – and kicked out in frustration to rid her legs of the tangle in the sheets.

Sighing aloud, she huffed to blow the hair out of her face and turned her head to glance at the watch on her bedside table.

4:06.

That was Earth time, of course... Did Earth time even matter here? They weren't on Earth now... they were floating somewhere between...between...oh, it wasn't important.

What _was _important was that she had been lying there for hours without even the faintest trace of  
sleep. Not one wink.

Rolling onto her stomach, Clara tried once again to close her eyes. There was a moment of suspended silence, when suddenly...

'_Tick...tick...tick'  
_  
Of course she would suddenly become aware of the noise of her watch. _Of course_.

Groaning in frustration, she enacted the only logical remaining option (besides knocking herself out); tossing her legs over the side of the bed, she got up.

"Milk" she muttered as she straightened her nightgown. "Warm milk".

It had been her mum's fail-safe solution whenever she'd wake from a nightmare as a little girl. She didn't like it much, but she'd always drink it just to make her mum happy, and sure enough, ten minutes later she'd be out like a light.

Slipping out of her doorway, she headed towards the TARDIS' makeshift kitchen, and hoped that the Doctor had remembered to restock the fridge like she'd asked.

She smiled when she pulled the fridge door open to find the milk and eggs neatly stacked. She was going to teach him how to make soufflés later, and in exchange he was going to start teaching her how to fly the TARDIS.

Moments later, mug of warm milk cradled in her hand, Clara appeared in the kitchen doorway; but instead of turning left and heading back toward her bedroom, without thinking, she turned right.

Softly, she padded barefoot up the corridor towards the control room.

The room was quiet except for the gentle hum of the console. Clara was pleasantly surprised by the serenity; usually this was the nosiest room on board, with the dials whirring, metal clanging, and the Doctor whacking something with something else.

She ran her fingers lightly across the dials, letting her mind wander aimlessly. She was just considering the prospect of fetching her blanket, and coming back to sleep out here when a new noise pulled her out of her thoughts.

She turned her head towards the source, curtain of dark hair brushing across her shoulders. When she spotted the cause, a smile danced upon her lips. Disbelievingly, she tiptoed across to the corner of the room...where the Doctor was slouched against a wall, surrounded by an assortment of tools... fast asleep.

Clara leant down to wake him, when suddenly, something stopped her.

..._She'd never seen the Doctor sleep before.  
_  
For some unknown reason, it seemed as though her heart stepped up a notch as she studied the sleeping figure at her feet.

His body was sprawled at such an awkward angle with limbs sticking out everywhere that Clara had to wonder how he'd managed to fall asleep at all. His head had rolled to his shoulder, and his hair was rumpled in all directions. An overwhelming urge to push it from his eyes came from nowhere - and Clara gave herself a rapid mental slap to quell it.

His bowtie was undone, hanging loosely around his neck, and his chest rose and fell rhythmically...Clara's eyes followed the movement for quite a while. Her smile grew when she heard his breath catch slightly in his throat; the noise that had alerted her to his presence in the first place.

She studied him, trying to place what was different...

He looked so... _young.  
_  
Without really being aware of what she was doing, Clara extended her arm towards him. To wake him? To fix his bowtie? To brush the hair from his face? She wasn't sure.

Her fingertips were centimetres away from him, and she tried desperately to ignore the tingling feeling that was slowly spreading from her hand up her arm. He was the Doctor after all, he was just her friend with the crazy blue snogbox, and he was nothing more. She didn't have sort of feelings for him whatsoever. Yes, alright, he was quite good looking and it wasn't like she hadn't noticed how his shirts clung just a bit too tightly to his toned body... BUT he was just the Doctor...Just _her _Doctor... he was just... awake.

His eyes snapped open, and his head flicked up as Clara rapidly jerked her arm away and took a step backwards.

There was a moment of silence where the Doctor just stared blankly, and then he shook his head ever so slightly and said;

"Clara! What are you doing here? What am _I_ doing here?"

His voice was thick with sleep, and Clara had to bite her lip to stop her smile at the sound of it.

"Couldn't sleep" she said with an attempt at a nonchalant shrug. "Went for a walk, warm milk, you know" she gestured lamely to the cup.

He pulled a face at the contents of the mug, nose wrinkled in disgust.

"Warm milk, blehh...warm milk...couldn't sleep...why couldn't you sleep?"

He took a good look at her, and as he did, Clara became painfully aware of her the length (or lack of) of her nightgown. A slight reddening of the Doctor's face made her wonder if he'd noticed the same.

"C'mon you" she said, extending her hand to pull him from his less than gracious position at her feet.

He ignored her hand, and bounded upright, shaking out his arms and legs, and rolling his shoulders to loosen his muscles.

"Horrible sleeping place, that" he said, stretching his neck. "Wouldn't recommend".

"Why were you there in the first place?"

"Had to tighten some bolts" he said, gesturing to the array of tools on the floor. "Must've dozed off..."

"Who tightens bolts at this hour?" she queried.

"Couldn't sleep, went for a walk" he said, echoing her words.

He looked so sleepy and muddled standing there in his rumpled clothes and tousled hair that Clara couldn't have stopped herself even if she'd wanted to (which she didn't, incidentally).

Standing on tiptoe, reaching her arm up, and ignoring how her nightgown crept up her thigh as she did so Clara ran her fingers through the Doctor's hair, smoothing it across to one side.

"There" she said, dropping back down. "Much better".

Unexpected happiness bubbled in her stomach as she watched his cheeks flush red at her touch.

"Right," he said, shaking his head again, and wringing his fingers, eyes studiously avoiding hers. "...Right. Sleeping. You should be sleeping, and I should be fixing!"

"At this hour?! I wasn't even sure whether you actually _needed_ sleep until five minutes ago, but now that I know, you can't escape it! Bed, now!"

The Doctor could hardly contain his laughter as stamped her foot on the floor and pointed sternly down the corridor.

"You're too small to be giving orders" he said.

"Oh yeah," she answered, raising an eyebrow. "Do you really want to try defying me?"

"Wouldn't dream of it".

Side by side they walked back down the passage, arms touching occasionally. The fact that they both felt the tingles when the other brushed past meant nothing of course. They were just friends after all.

The Doctor was trying very hard to think about TARDIS repairs and not the length of a nightgown that seemed to creep up with every step... when suddenly Clara grabbed his arm and pulled him into the kitchen.

"Bit early for soufflé making, isn't it?"

Clara didn't say anything; instead, she filled a new mug with milk, warmed it, and handed it to him.

His nose wrinkled.

"Don't pull that face at me. You said you couldn't sleep? Drink up!"

Reluctantly, he took the mug from her hands.

"Goodnight, Doctor" she said, and he wasn't sure if he imagined it or not, but her fingers seemed to linger just a moment too long against his... and then she was gone.

And with a resigned laugh, the Doctor raised the mug to his lips, because even though he didn't really like warm milk, he'd drink it...just to make Clara happy.


End file.
